


Expansion

by SharpestRose



Series: Things that never happened to the Robins [3]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-29
Updated: 2011-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-20 20:22:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharpestRose/pseuds/SharpestRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick's starting to worry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Expansion

It's almost two months since the Joker nearly shot him, and Dick's starting to worry.

Danger is hardly a new thing for him, and the novelty factor in being confronted with his own mortality wore off long ago. But, for some reason that Dick can't fathom, Bruce has taken this particular incident extra-hard.

Dick's tried telling the Titans about it. About the quiet, and the additional training, and the fear that he knows is behind the sharp, curt tones Bruce has been speaking in. The Titans think Batman's a big scary freak anyway, though, so they're not much help.

Sometimes Dick wishes that there was someone who understood what stuff like this was like. Alfred's cool, but mutual whining isn't really a feature of the relationship Dick has with him.

Bruce is looking at Dick with yet another worried, thoughtful expression. They're at the table, and the table is set for breakfast, but neither of them have eaten anything yet.

They're supposed to be doing a Bruce-Wayne's-largess-to-the-community photo-op at an experimental school in the lousy part of town this morning, and Dick know Bruce likes to stay around that same area for patrol on this night of the year. It's the anniversary of the night Bruce's parents died.

Maybe that's what's got him so worried; he's scared of losing Dick as well.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Dick asks, desperate to break the quiet.

Bruce blinks, as if he's surprised at being spoken to.

"C'mon, you've been stewing for weeks now."

Bruce smiles a little. "I'm sorry if it's been annoying."

"Don't be sorry, just... what's in your head? You've been giving me these looks, like..." Like you want to lock me in a cellar underneath the house so I can't get hurt.

Except, of course, underneath their house is the Cave.

"I've been thinking," Bruce says, and doesn't meet Dick's eyes, and Dick's stomach becomes a knot. No, no, he can't. "That Gotham's moral climate has shifted since the time Batman and Robin were a suitable defense."

"You're firing me?" The outrage and incredulity that the words held inside Dick's mind get lost in translation from thought to speech, and the question comes out as a betrayed keen.

Bruce looks up sharply, shocked. "No! Never, Dick. You have my word."

And just as quickly as the world fell apart, it rights itself. Dick breathes out in relief. "Oh. Okay. Good."

"No, my thoughts were along the lines of -" Bruce pauses. "Expansion."

"You want to make Babs a full-time member of the team?" Dick asks as he pours milk over his cereal, his appetite returned.

"I considered it, but I don't think it would suit her. Or us." Bruce gives him a pointed look.

"Hey! I can work alongside gorgeous girls and keep my mind on the job!" Dick sits back and crosses his arms, mildly offended. Then, the moment passing, his tone becomes more serious. "This is because of the Joker, isn't it? When he nearly shot me."

Bruce nods. "Yes."

"Thought so. But, hey, it worked out okay, right? When the fight's 'Joker vs. Robin', don't put your money on the green-haired loony."

Bruce smiles, but Dick can see the deep terror still lurking in his eyes.

-

They've been at Ma Gunn's School for Boys for all of ten minutes when Dick starts to smell a rat. There's something off about the way they boys talk, the same combination of fear and respect and self-satisfaction that Dick's more used to hearing from mob lackeys. The classroom looks ordinary enough, but that's wrong too because it's not an ordinary school. A row of pristine and expensive textbooks that look like they've never been touched, much less studied, sits on a beat-up shelf beside the blackboard.

"There's something wrong here," Dick says to Bruce quietly as they're led into the dining hall. Dick half-expects it to smell of gruel. "I think these kids are in danger."

Bruce nods, his face keeping its affable and charming smile as his eyes narrow a fraction.

"We'll come back later?" Dick guesses. Bruce nods again.

-

Sorting out the school takes them an hour that evening, and Dick's glad he noticed that it was crooked. Keeping Bruce's mind off his parents and off his concerns for Dick seems like the best thing to do.

They head back to the car, the streets empty and almost eerily quiet. Nobody wants to mess with Batman tonight.

The car is...

Dick starts laughing so hard that his eyes tear up behind the mask.

"Robin, what -" Bruce starts to say, and the he notices the fact that two of the Batmobile's tires are gone, and starts to laugh too.

"Well, they're brave, you've got to give them that," Dick offers, and shakes his head. "I don't know about you, but I'm impressed."

"Shh," Bruce says suddenly. "Someone's coming back."

Dick nods, and the two of them blend back into the shadows under a fire escape overhang.

A teenage boy, dressed in too-small clothes and with a pinched, scrappy look to his face, walks up to the car and begins to work at the bolts of the third wheel with a tire iron.

Dick flips up, landing in a crouch on top of the front of the car.

"Aw, hell," the boy says, standing and swinging out with the tire iron. Dick dodges the blow, dropping down onto the pavement to loom above the boy as best he can.

"We'd like our tires back, kid."

"Try and catch me, then," the boy taunts, and darts off down the narrow street.

Dick calls "It's fine, I've got it," over his shoulder as he gives chase. The boy's fast, that's for sure. Agile, too, climbing up a rickety and rusting-through ladder with an ease Dick's rarely seen even from the costumed teens he's worked with.

Dick stays out of sight as the boy reaches a window several stories up on an abandoned building. He looks back and forth and, obviously satisfied that he's lost his pursuers, climbs inside.

Dick waits thirty seconds and then follows. The hallway smells like plaster that's been too-long damp and cigarette smoke and motor oil. A staticky radio plays rock music from behind one of the closed doors.

Inside, the boy is sprawled on a mattress on the floor, flicking through a skin magazine and smoking what Dick's willing to bet is a butt scrounged from an ashtray.

" _Jee-zus_ ," the boy says when he sees Dick.

"Nope. You swipe his tires, too?"

The room smells even worse than the hallway did. Like sickness and rot and canned food and cheap alcohol.

"Listen, I got friends in high places. If I go missing, you'll -" the boy stammers, eyes darting towards where the tire-iron rests atop a pile of tires. Then, the feeble protests trailing off, the boy just looks scared. "Don't hurt me."

"Is this where you live?"

The boy's chin tilts up again, proud and furious. He stands up and crosses his arms, looking Dick straight in the eye. "Yeah, and what of it? It's mine, and I like it."

"What about your parents?"

"My Dad's in jail. My mother..." The boy's lips press together in a hard line. "She got sick. What the hell's it to you, anyway?"

"What's your name?"

The boy opens his mouth, as if he's about to answer, and then dives for the tire iron. Dick jumps out of the way of the first hit, but the boy kicks out with one of his ratty sneakers and connects with Dick's shin, hard, at the same moment as his fist hits Dick's cheekbone.

The blow is surprisingly powerful, more than Dick would have expected the boy to be capable of. Dick strikes in below the ribs with the edge of his hand and hooks his foot behind the boy's ankle, knocking him down against the filthy floorboards and pinning him there with a forearm under his chin.

"I'll ask again. What's your name?"

"Jason," the boy says with a glare, struggling to wriggle free. "Jason Todd."

"Wanna gimme back my tires, Jason Todd?"

"Wanna make me?" Jason mimics Dick's tone, sneering.

"Think I'm already doing that, kid," Dick points out conversationally, increasing the pressure against Jason's throat a little.

"Okay, okay, fine. Take your stupid tires."

"Help me get them back to the car," Dick orders. Jason looks furious and humiliated, but nods.

-

"You go to school?"

Jason barks a laugh. "What do you think, costume boy?" He lets the tire he's rolling bounce a few steps down before he catches it again.

"So, what, you rip off tires and read porn and smoke? Sounds like a lousy life."

"Fuck you."

"You're a good fighter."

"People leave you alone if they know you're tough. It's easy to make people scared of you if you know how," Jason mutters. "And then they leave you alone."

"You like being alone?"

"It's better than getting messed up in the deals going on around here. I'm no crook."

Dick clears his throat and gestures to the tires.

"Fuck you, I'm not. I just do what I have to. Only time I even pick a fight is when someone tries to make life tough for the girls and guys around here who're doing what they have to." Jason scowls at the ground, as if it's done him a personal wrong. "There. You've got your stupid tires. Now take 'em and go."

"Wait. There's someone I want you to meet first." Dick grabs Jason's upper arm as the boy turns to leave.

Bruce is still waiting by the car, and seems unsurprised when Dick returns with company.

"You took your time," Bruce remarks, looking Jason up and down. Dick shrugs.

"Our new friend isn't the most cooperative soul." He gestures to the bruise he can feel rising on his cheek.

"So are you gonna kill me, or hand me over to child services?" Jason's voice almost masks his fear under the gruffness. Almost.

"He needs a home," Dick explains. "And he's got a fine right hook."

"And 'he' has a _name_ ," Jason snaps.

"Are you sure about this?" Bruce asks Dick.

"Nope," Dick answers cheerfully. "That's why I'm asking your opinion."

"What the hell are you two talking about?"

Bruce looks at Jason. "What's your name, son?"

"Jason." Jason's lip curls into a smirk. "What's yours?"

"Bruce," Bruce answers.

Dick grins.


End file.
